Chapter 2
In Diagon Alley
To Harry, who had been confined once more in the upstairs floor for the incidence with the exploding mirror, the next few days seemed to creep by at a petty pace, like a cumbersome glacier crawling slowly across the arctic waters, like watching a herd of slugs trudging across the ground. Slumped on his bed during every hour of the day when he wasn't being pushed around like a slave, Harry rarely found an exciting moment when he was awake, and when sleep finally consumed his senses, his dreams were filled with flashbacks of the mysterious reflection. Monotony consumed Harry's life, each passing moment a repeat of the last, and every time he glanced back at his rusty, dilapidated alarm clock, usually only 5 minutes had passed since the last time he had checked.
But on a particularly boring Sunday, where he had been put through the daunting task of washing and folding all 30 pairs of Dudley's stretched, oversized underwear, a little thread of thrill wormed its way into the morning, as Harry's sleep was suddenly provoked by a harsh scratching noise, as if a cat was attacking his bed post.
Awaking with a start, a hand clasped over his chest, Harry's eyes moved over to the side of his bed, where Hedwig stood, one leg severely hampered by a thick, tightly packed gift. Like before, no return address has been written, but he could recognize that scrawled handwriting anywhere. Harry tore and ripped at the brown paper like a hungry animal trying to get its share of a carcass, until he had finally unearthed the parcel's contents, a small, leather-bound notebook, the edges frayed, scratches covering the books dirtied cover. Puzzled over the item, Harry turned the volume over many times, inspecting front and back for any indication on the books purpose, only to be left with more bewilderment.
"Is it really from Sirius, Hedwig?" he said with a half-smile, and the grin grew wider as the snowy owl hooted emphatically, wings beating as if to goad Harry on with investigation. Shaking the book a little, a small parchment fell out of the pages into Harry's lap. Harry's initials were scribbled on the front.
"Finally getting somewhere…"
Cracking off the sealing wax on the backside of the note, Harry vigorously scanned over the pages, hoping to see Sirius' familiar signature at the bottom of the page. Without even considering the body of the letter, Harry sighed with relief upon seeing that it was indeed there, that this was no trick of the mind or illusion. After giving the hooting Hedwig some stale chips, the only thing he had been fed last night, Harry returned to read the remaining portion of the memo.
Harry-
I'm glad that you wrote me as quickly as you did…this situation is not to be taken likely, as I suspect that there is some deeper meaning to this strange reflection. I have personally contacted Albus, and in response, he has given me this journal to forward to you.
There is a great enchantment on this item; much like, and in the same respect unlike Tom Riddel's journal, the spell connects two objects by the use of ink. I have in my hands a similar book, and whenever one of us writes on the pages, the same words and phrases will be communicated on its mate journal. This way, if something urgent is to happen to either of us, write to me immediately so that I may help you ASAP.
Please keep this charmed diary safe. It has more value than you can even began to imagine, and its uses are more broad than you may believe them to be. I leave you with my dearest hopes that you are and will still be safe for much time. I sense that something is aloof, and Albus can agree with me on that.
As for Snape, Albus tells me that he shall keep an extra wary eye on him, both physical and magical. Snape has always been a most strange, estranged character, but I severely doubt he will directly act out his hatred towards you, at least not with both Albus and myself around.
-Sirius
Tempted to try out the new bauble as quickly as possible, Harry leaped from his spot on the frumpy, lumped mattress, racing to his closet where all his wizarding supplies had been stored, to Uncle Vernon's dismay. Snatching up his last bottle of magical ink (Harry by now absolutely abhorred Muggle ink) and quill, eyes blazing with excitement, Harry plopped into his wooden chair, one that groaned with detest at whatever little weight Harry contained. The chair and its matching table were worn and shabby, on the verge of tatters, and he had to place several books or planks of wood to keep all 4 legs of his chair on the ground.
Dipping the nibbed end of his plumbed pen into the small, tubular bottle, Harry barely had the time to scribble down one dot of ink before a long, stretched out yell emerged from the first floor, quite loud enough for him to deceiver the speaker.
"HARRY! GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT! THOSE….THOSE PEOPLE ARE HERE AGAIN!"
Turning back to the journal quickly, heart racing now, Harry had enough time to scribble down a single line before shutting the book:
"I'm leaving for the Weasley's today."
Skimming along the mahogany stairs at quicksilver speed, hair whipping about his pale, but gleeful face, Harry appeared around the corner towards the living room, knowing that he was going to be confronted with both his disgruntled uncle and at least one of the Weasley's, a red-haired family of pureblood wizards. Ron Weasley, the youngest boy in his family, and Harry's fellow Hogwarts' classmate, was a prodigy at wizard's chess, an enchanted version of the popular Muggle game, where the pieces actually decimate their foes, in brutal ways most of the time.
And standing in front of the Dursleys' fireplace, covered from head to toe in thick black layers of soot was none other than Harry's good pal Ron, accompanied by Mr. Weasley, a blissful smile plastered on his face. Despite the Muggle-world's fear of Magic in most cases, Ron's father held a peculiar fascination with all things not wizardly, which made the Weasley's short visits to number 4 Privet Drive a pure joyride for the Ministry of Magic employee.
"Harry, I want you to pack your things quick as possible…Petunia'll mind these…people…being in our house…" Uncle Vernon scowled like an angry boar, face speckled purple by now, as he was obviously trying to suppress a multitude of ignorant insults. Harry's aunt and Dudley were obviously not at home, perhaps grocery shopping (which always took an especially long time because of Dudley), or else no one would be able to talk about the screams and screeches.
"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry said shortly towards the glowering, rhino-of-a-man, giving both of the Weasley's a brief wave of the hand and a "hello" before he raced back up the stairs, zipping into his room, while startling the sleeping Hedwig in the process.
"Guess what, Hedwig?" Harry said, out of breath and now catching his breath to soothe his jolted owl, "the Weasley's are here! We're leaving this place!"
With a merry hoot and a flustering of her wings, the content owl swished herself into her cage, ready to be whisked out of the Dursleys' home, for her time in flight was greatly reduced while in their custody. Her happy undulation speeded Harry on, as he hurled himself into his closet, dragging out his trunk, tossing all his things into the container in a rather slipshod manner, too caught up in the excitement of things to really sort things out in a mannerly fashion. Nearly catapulted into tears of happiness, he did however, make sure that he remembered all his school things and, especially, the journal Sirius had sent him, along with all his birthday presents.
After rechecking that all his spell books and cloaks were accounted for, Harry found himself literally shoving the chest through his confined doorway and down the clattering stairs like a dead body being hurled into the ocean.
A great clunk resounded through the house as Harry's trunk made contact with the floor beneath him, nearly sending Uncle Vernon into a fit of rage, beating his feasts into his sides to vent off his culminating resentment. His face was brick red at this time, and Ron, half struck with fear and amazement, looked on with wide-eyes.
"Boy, I swear if you've made a mark…" he muttered slowly, breathes seething through the gaping holes between each of his teeth, wide-eyes alight with internal flames. Tapping an obtrusive foot onto the ground, his toe flapping up and down blazingly, Harry tried with all his might to push the trunk towards the fireplace as swiftly as his strength could allow.
This would not be the first time Harry had traveled by the use of a grand Magical transportation mechanism entitled "Floo Powder". Although he was getting much better at utilizing a fireplace to go places, Harry's mind would never let him forget his pioneer adventure, one that had left him in a dark corner of the wizarding business district known as Diagon Alley, where the magical community as a whole went to shop. It was because of his unforeseen visit that Harry had his first real glimpse of the evil moralities that some wizarding families hid under the shroud of deathly black.
"Well…I guess I'll see you next summer…Uncle Vernon…" Harry squeezed out, the words lodging in his throat, as none of what he was saying was the least bit friendly at all; living with the Dursleys for 11 years had done nothing to fabricate a loving bond with any of the ill-mannered lot, it had only fortified an intense hatred between them.
"Yes, boy…see you later…" Uncle Vernon choked out, dismissing him with a curt wave of his chubby, greasy hand, turning away from Harry to return to the kitchen, most likely to feed his face along with Dudley. Harry's Aunt Petunia was out shopping, although this didn't bother him at the least, and it was probably the same for her as well.
"Good to see you again, old chap!" Mr. Weasley spoke in an exuberantly, eyes smiling when no smile was offered back, pumping his hand in the air while Ron struggled with Harry to bring his chest closer to the fireplaces brick front.
"Good bye!"
"Dad…haven't I told you? Those ol' gits don't give a bat's hide about us…" Ron chided his father, eyes rolling as he beckoned him over to assist them,
"Bet you didn't expect us to come this early in the summer, eh Harry?"
Too overcome with an inherent disrespect for his belligerent uncle, Harry had barely heard his friend's voice, shaking his head a little to surmise beyond his anger, apologizing to Ron before saying much more.
"You shoulda have sent me an owl…that way I would have had some time to prepare at least," Harry said, grunting a little as they finally got one end of the heavy, cumbersome trunk onto the brick-built hearth.
"But I'm glad you came, Ron…there's so much I have to tell you on the train to Hogwarts…"
"Well, boys, best we get going now, I guess…seems like your uncle's a bit short on words, Harry!" pulling a small, purple sachet out of his jacket pocket, Mr. Weasley tossed a bit of it into the fireplace, sending sparks of iridescent green a flurry.
"Would you like to go first, hmm?"
Nodding happily, prepared for the globe-hopping journey that came with the use of Floo Powder, Harry smiled at Ron again, his radiant eyes twinkling with every pop and fizzle of emerald green that flew from the now lit inglenook. Stepping closely towards the mass of light and dazzlement, Harry spoke in a clear, firm voice, ridding his voice of any skips or lapses, coughing a little before he engaged in the magical enchantment.
"The Burrow!"
The best way to describe Floo Powder transportation would be to imagine yourself being pushed down through the center of a funnel, with an inky blackness zipping by you, the muscles and skin on your face rippling from the shear sensation of being hurled through time and space.
Harry, who was at this exact moment closing his eyes to hide himself from the troubling ruckus, the mind-binding awareness that you are neither in space or earth, but somewhere sandwiched in between the two, finally felt a warmth overcoming him, a cozy feeling, and when he unclosed his eyes, he found himself now standing in the Weasley's kitchen.
It was a humble home, filled with only the necessities that life demanded, for money was always in short supply when you had nine people's mouths to feed. But this didn't halt the Weasley's from being content; the Dursleys', who had plenty of income to share with others, although they obviously did not partake in such a generous act, never seemed as spirited as Ron's family.
Mouth wide in joyousness, Harry glanced around the kitchen before an ebullient flash of green behind him announced the incoming of his other two "flight companions." With a window-rattling thump, Ron was tumbling onto the floor, scurrying away from the hearth just in time to avoid the plummeting trunk that seemed to be targeting Ron's body.
A pair of mischievous faces suddenly peered around the corner, smirks pressed firmly on their freckled heads, and Harry soon found himself puzzling over which boy owned what name, for they were the twins Fred and George.
"Awww…did poor ickle Ronnikins almost get pummeled…does Ronnikins have a boo-boo?" the two boys jeered and teased in a singsong fashion that meant no harm, although Harry noticed Ron's face became a deep crimson red, especially on the tops of his ears.
"Oh, shut-up you two!" he absconded, pulling himself off the ground, shaking the dust off his maroon sweater, one that had a large, yellow "R" knitted on the front.
"We didn't mean no harm, Ron, leave off!" the twin Harry presumed to be Fred spoke in a mockingly apologetic tone, clasping his hands together and beating his eyes like an overenthusiastic model.
"You understand, right Harry?"
"Of course he does, Fred," George proclaimed, giving Harry a hearty pat on the back, a grin stretching from ear-to-ear, "anyway, its good to have you here. Reckon you were up to your wits with those blasted Muggles…"
"Now, George, what have I told you about insulting Muggles…" Mr. Weasley chimed in with a firm tone of voice, just as he had finished dusting off Harry's trunk, the strange aura of the Floo Powder dying off like a dimming candle, "You're no better then all the people that ridicule our kind…"
Just then, Harry felt himself being swept off his feet literally, face trapped in shock as a large, plump woman took the boy into a strong grip, his breath taken away as he was pressed against the body of Mrs. Weasley, Ron's exuberant mother.
"Oh, its so good to see you again, dear!" she squealed in delight before letting go of Harry finally, his nerves rattled a bit, but nonetheless okay.
"I sent the Mr. and Ron out today to fetch you from the Dursleys…I just couldn't help but get you out of that house…not after the way the way they treated us last year…"
Mrs. Weasley broke off into a hushed mumble, much to the relief of Mr. Weasley. While she scurried off to prepare a meal, and Ron was busy with his father hauling his trunk up the Burrow's one flight of stairs, Harry was left to gaze around him at the simple beauty this home held. Every nook in was filled with intriguing things, magical and not, which lent a very cozy feel to the Burrow, a warm satisfaction that Harry felt deep in his magically tinted blood, the sensation that you were with a family like your own.
A broad smile spanning his face, Harry then realized that the Weasley's were his family in a way he hadn't seen before. He was without his mother and father, both victims of Voldomort's cruelty. But he still had a place to call home, for Harry did not respect the shelter Privet Drive provided, never in a million life times. The Weasley's had put a roof over his head while he was not residing at Hogwarts, had fed him and taken him to enchanting places like the Quidditch world cup, and had most of all showed him love, especially Mrs. Weasley, who was very kind and endearing towards Harry. Staying in the Burrow was also great fun, for when he had been forced to hole up with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, all things Magic were forbidden; even mentioning Hogwarts and all things related was like committing a major felony.
"Harry? Harry! Are you listening?"
A voice resounded within Harry's ears; his senses recollected themselves as he spun around to see Ron wheeling down the stairs wildly. His friend wore a grand smile, red hair now traveling a little past his cheekbones.
"Yeah…I'm sorry…I was just thinking…" Harry said back to Ron, "I see you're due for a haircut, Ron, you're going to start looking a little like your older brother, Bill!"
Laughing a little, Ron suddenly brought his lips closely to Harry's ear, so close that it tickled. But Ron was obviously trying to be serious as he began to whisper in a very fervent manner.
"What was it that you had to tell me, Harry?" he said, his voice no louder then the scuffling of mice feet, eyes darting to spot anyone that might be spying.
"Oh! I almost forgot, follow me upstairs…" Harry nearly cried out; he had to show Ron the special journal, it had been eating at his mind for the past 30 minutes.
Dashing up the rickety staircase, several of the planks creaking madly like the deck of an old pirate ship, Harry slipped into Ron's bedroom, one covered with posters of one of their favorite Quidditch teams, the Chudley Cannons, all dressed in bright, vibrant orange robes, all zipping around the pictures surface in a way that made Harry ache to take flight as well. Gripping his hands around the shaft of an imaginary broomstick unconsciously, Harry eyes lit up.
"Hey, Ron, wanna fly for a bit? I've been aching to ever since I got back from Hogwarts!" he said happily, nearly skipping to his trunk to dig up his precious Firebolt. But in the process, his fingers touched the rugged, leathery cover of Sirius' journal, and Harry's mind reminded him of his earlier promise to Ron.
"I'm not sure, Harry…Mum says I have to work on de-gnome the garden today…since I didn't have to do it this morning…" Ron said with a regretful, heavy-hearted sigh, mouth slanting to one side as he reached for his rubber boots lying callously beside his bed.
"Well…let me help…I'll have to show you a certain something while we head on out," Harry picked up the book, and joined Ron down the stairs, chattering excitably about all of what they had done so far into the summers reign. Harry didn't have that much to divulge, as the Dursleys' allowed little excitement and fun when concerning magical entertainment. On the other hand, Ron had much to spill, about how his older brothers Bill and Charlie were coming home soon, and how Percy had finally lightened up a bit. "I guess he's learned that you can't be uptight all the time…he had my mum worried for a while though…" Ron admitted, as they reached the back door, trudging out towards the overgrown garden in the south side of the Burrow.
"What was it you had to show me, Harry? Tell me its not another one of Hagrid's horrible candies…" Ron groaned at the mere thought of the half-giant's cooking, one that made garbage appear to be a delicacy.
"Its this…I got it from Sirius earlier today…" Harry offered the journal for Ron to inspect, as he further explained the situation at hand: the shattering mirror, the transmogrified reflection, and most of all, the journal's magical properties.
"I always knew Snape had foul intentions, Harry…gotta watch your back around that ol' scumbag," returning the notebook, Ron started to venture into the heart of the garden, intent on finishing his task as quickly as possible, searching for the devilish gnomes that fancied the gardens secrecy.
"But Sirius said he doubts Snape'll try anything…and I trust him…" Harry spoke with a hushed voice as he too dug into the mass of vegetation.
The gnomes the boys were avidly searching for are not the cute, plump kind many Muggles are accustomed too, in fact, they are very much the opposite, for they have nasty demeanors, ugly faces and snarling teeth, never holding back against those that would fling them from their homes. Quick as hares but not too bright, they were great sport to hound around and seize. Once or twice a couple of the impish creatures might escape either Ron or Harry's grasp, and they could hear their twisted laughter around the next bush or shrub, flitting away as soon as one drew nearer to them.
"I swear…these pests get a little brainier every year…" Ron murmured as he sent another gnome flying over the lawns distance, a screaming ball of putrid skin and flaying limbs that was sure to return in the next hour or so.
"Hey Harry! Look out!"
Ron's warning was too late, for in the next terse second, Harry felt the treasured diary being yanked out of his hands, and all Harry could do was give a curt gasp before being kicked onto the ground by a pair of short, pugilistic legs.
"Come n' getit!" a raspy, slimy voice taunted, and Harry saw its horny, hairy feet scamper away in wiliness.
"Harry! It's got your book!" hands cupping his mouth, Ron's amplified voice boomed the assessment over the expanse of the Burrow's front lawn, and then the Chase initiated.
Little snickers erupted from all around the garden in delight for the shenanigans taking place, two wizards trying in vain to capture one gnome. Harry ran like the wind across the lawn, head spinning in anger, eyes darting rapidly like a hawk scanning the area for a mouse. On a few occasions, Ron's hands came very close to subduing the sneaky gnome's ankles, but the creature must have had his plan well thought out, for it would abruptly halt, curl into a ball, and the trailing wizard would be sent tripping over its bony, leathery body like a football.
Bodies were thrusted across in attempts to tackle the resourceful and surprisingly clever little imp, its fiendish laughter inciting anger within both of the boys' minds as they failed again and again to catch both the gnome and the book it had purloined. By the second time it had run through Harry's legs, startling him off guard and causing him to double over and collapse onto the ground, both Ron and Harry's clothing were covered in grass stains and bruises, small nicks turned into long cuts, and they both were seething with rage.
"Ron…we're not getting anywhere…and I can't let that book get away…" Harry said astutely, feeling a particularly purple wound on his right, upper arm, "We have to beat him in his own game…listen, I'll chase him towards that load of boulders nearest to the front head of the lawn…and then you'll hide behind that tree…I'll give you a signal and that'll give you time to trip him or something…"
"Didn't have much time to think about it, eh?" Ron mused in the midst of trouble, and with a nod, he went to occupy his hiding spot, giving Harry a quick thumbs up.
"Now…all I have to do is find that little git…" Harry groaned, his body already aching from the several trips the gnome had been sending him into. Creeping around the circumference of the garden, Harry thought that he had seen the gnome's piercing eyes once or twice, but they had just been hanging berries or fruit.
A rustling emerged from Harry's right, and he lunged without circumspect, sending a gnome dashing out of the way, speeding away from him. But Harry spun to his feet, charged ahead, teeth bare and arms pumping wildly as he tried with all his earnest to steer the gnome towards the target point. Several times they veered off course, but Harry's quick set of feet sidestepped and leaped to either side to maintain course. After a few thrilling moments, the tree came into view, a rather frazzled looking oak with ragged leaves and gnarled branches, and Harry jammed two of his fingers into his mouth, giving an arrow-like whistle.
"Now, Ron, NOW!" he then screamed, arms flapping to signal off his friend, hoping that he would understand.
A blur of maroon shot forth, and a pair of grappling hands seized the escaping gnome's dry, ugly ankles. They both toppled onto the ground, but the journal, which had slipped free from the imp's arms during his subduing, was sent pitching into the sky, arced, and then plummeted down towards a very muddy pool of rainwater. As Ron sent the troublesome gnome flying away from the garden, he suddenly spotted the journal at about the same moment Harry did, and they both wore a look of fear and anxiety as it neared the grubby puddle, and neither of them could find the strength the speak.
"I've got it!"
A feminine voice rang out. The leather-bound book was plucked out of the sky. Harry and Ron both gave an unnaturally long sigh as they saw Hermione, who had just arrived at the Burrow, snatched the book from a dirty-defeat. Her girlish figure bounded towards them triumphantly, handing the book back to its rightful owner, and Harry was relieved to see that the gift had not sustained any physical injuries.
"Hermione! I never thought I'd be this happy to see you!" Ron cried out, arms wrapping around the girl's unsuspecting form, taking her into an overly gracious hug. But in spite of herself Hermione began to giggle, and Harry, too, gave the clever witch a merciful hug, patting her on the back several times before releasing her.
"And I am as well," Hermoine said in proper voice, pointing towards her neatly packed mound of suitcases behind her, "Do you think either of you could give me a hand with these?"
Ron was the first to offer his help, nearly jumping to the occasion, grabbing up the largest and most bulky case, one that looked to be double his size and weight. But through grunts and arduous effort, he managed to drag the baggage up the length of the lawn, while Harry worked with Hermione in bringing in the other bags and trunks. By the time Ron had managed to haul the gigantic suitcase into the Burrow and was catching his breath, all of the other cases were already in the bedroom Hermione was to be staying in; she would be sharing Ginny's (Ron only had one sister) room as she did last year as well.
And so now the three friends were reunited under one, happy roof, awaiting the time in which they were to return to Hogwarts, to their school, to their second home.
Unlike at number 4, Privet Drive, Harry's time at the Burrow seemed to shoot by like a meteorite searing across the night sky, everyday filled with the magic he had been so very deprived of while with the nefarious Dursleys. The threesome exchanged stories of their summer, although Harry didn't have much to say (all he could really talk about was the mirror and Sirius' journal, which Hermione found extremely perplexing), and as the weeks trailed on, their anticipation mounted the air, their hearts beating faster at the very mention of Hogwarts. Even having Severus Snape as a teacher for another year didn't do much to belittle their cheerfulness.
"So…who do you think is going to be the new Defense in the Dark Arts teacher…maybe someone who'll stay around for more then a year hopefully…" Ron said with a laugh, reminiscing on the past years teachers as they sat in he living room together, all preparing for the yearly excursion to Diagon Alley the next day. The position of the Dark Arts Professor did seem hexed, anyone could agree on that. They had seen everything from phonies to werewolves filling in the everlastingly empty space in Hogwarts' faculty.
"Well, I for one hope it's an incredibly powerful witch, I don't think there's been a female Dark Arts teacher in years!" Hermione said with high hopes, turning to Harry to see his reaction. But the boy seemed lost in thought, eyes focused on a very boring patch of uncovered wall space, "Harry? Are you alright?"
"I-I was just thinking…do you think we'll ever see Lupin again…he hasn't visited the school since he left…" Harry said pensively in reference to his favorite Professor of the Dark Arts, who unfortunately happened to be the aforementioned werewolf, and therefore was no longer employed at Hogwarts.
"I'm sorry, Harry," sighing, Hermione gave the scarred boy a reassuring pat, "I think he's just waiting for a safe moment in which to journey back to the School…"
"Yeah, Harry, I'd be wary too, if I were a werewolf an' all…" Ron said as he gobbled down a Chocolate Frog, salvaging the collectable card, which, unfortunately, was not Agrippa, the only card Ron was missing from his collection.
"I guess…" drearily shrugging his shoulders, Harry lifted himself out of the comfortable armchair in front of the fireplace, heading towards the staircase, "I think I'm going to bed…getting kinda late…"
"You're right," Herioine agreed with a know-it-all air of confidence, following behind Harry up the staircase, yawning a little as she then turned towards Ron, who was still standing in a solemn trance, "Is something wrong, Ron?"
"Well…it's just…" Ron cleared his throat, ears turning a light pink tone, as his hands balled into tiny fists, "I w-was just wondering…y'know…d-did you ever go visit Victor?"
"Is that it, Ron? That's so cute of you!" Hermione teased a little before skipping down to face Ron, who was referring to the burly Chaser Victor Krum, from the Durmstrang school, located near Bulgaria, "For your information, no, I didn't…things just didn't work out…he was also way to suspicious of anyone I talked to…he didn't even like it when I talked to my father over the phone!"
"Well…that's all I really wanted to know…you'd better get to bed, too…" Ron stammered with latent joy, "Big day tomorrow, eh?"
"Yes, Ron," Hermione replied, "Oh…and thank you for helping me with that suitcase…its always been such a pain…"
"It's no biggie…thanks for helping us with that journal…Harry woulda been in pieces if it had fallen into that puddle…" Ron chuckled a little, his entire face a pallet of red, "Good night, Hermione…"
"Good Night, Ron…"
Bustling activity at every corner and chattering along the streets. Carts lined with wizard delicacies and magical charms. Stores filled to the rim with people and things to buy.
Diagon Alley was the cornerstone of the enchanting shopping community, where the best of the best in Hogwarts could be found and, if your wallet allowed, bought. From owls to books of the Dark Arts, everything a wizard or witch could ever want or need could either be found in Diagon Alley, or it didn't exist at all.
Many rumors corresponding to last year's debacle were swarming around the corridors and shops, like a disease, and when Harry, along with Hermione and the Weasley's, arrived near the bookstore Flourish and Blotts, they literally had to hide their faces from the many gossiping folk that roamed the area. Many a people were scrounging the Alley for objects and incantations to work against the forces of evil, especially now with Lord Voldomort supposedly revived. "Evil-be-Gone" charms and "Anti-Dark" formulas were expected best sellers, next to the required list of books every Hogwarts student had to purchase every year.
"So…you got your list yet, Harry?" Hermione questioned, unfolding her own, scanning over the list again for the 15th time. This was always her favorite part of shopping; Hermione was extremely partial to reading.
"I can't believe you have to buy another book on Divination…wasting money on that worthless class…"
"Don't tell me your still onto that ol' bat, Hermione…" Ron intruded, trying to walk in a straight line, a pile of already purchased goods piled onto his arms blocking his vision perfectly, "I still wish you wouldn't have dropped that class…its no fun having to survive with just Harry there!"
"Yeah…even though it's quite a laugh duping her with our "prediction charts"…" Harry commented, nose scrunching at the thought of having to trudge through another year with Professor Trelawny, a senile old woman who had an astonishing semblance to an insect, and a somewhat creepy habit of predicting Harry's death, even though he had evaded it thus far.
Slipping into the normally crowded bookstore, the threesome found themselves in a maze of people, the volume of conversation so thunderous that they had to communicate to one another by use of hand signals and pointing fingers along with mouthing out obvious words like "Over here" and "Lets go!"
This year's inventory of reading required such books like "The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 5) by Miranda Goshawk", "Defense: a Master's Guide by Vernon Stonewall", and much to Harry's dismay, "Advanced Magical Chemistry by Ada Vile".
"Another text for stupid ol' Snape's class…" Ron grumbled in detest as his pile of parcels doubled, forcing him to adopt a small cart to tow his things with, "And I thought it couldn't get any more complicated then it is already…even with him giving out impossible assignments…"
A sudden scream broke out over the Alley, and Harry quickly spotted a pair of young, burlesque boys charging through the crowd, a small package tucked under one of their arms. The sound of a distressed woman followed the clammer of urgency and excitement; Harry was soon shoved away from his friends as the rampaging due barged their way past him, knocking him onto the ground, his glasses slipping off his face, clattering onto the ground.
"No! My glasses!" Harry cried out, ignoring the pain in his lower back, as he scrambled to the spot on the ground where he thought his spectacles might have fallen. But to Harry's consternation, his hands only touched cobble stone and other people's feet, as the rambunctious bustle starting up again, making it that much more arduous to maneuver while down on all fours. He hadn't even perceived the fact that Hermoine and Ron were nowhere to be seen; he was so absorbed in his worsening search for his glasses. The fact that his vision wasn't up to par didn't help the situation at all either.
"Are you looking for these?" a soft voice was barely audible in the center of the bustling movement, but Harry was sure that it was directed towards him. Reaching out to its source, he found his fingers wrapping around thin metal and glass, realized that he was holding his glasses, and that they were thankfully still in one solid piece. Slipping them onto his face, Harry looked up at his aide, as a pair of thin arms helped him onto his feet again.
There, standing before him was a middle-aged woman, apparently not yet in her thirties, for her face was vibrant and youthful, as thick curls of brown falling about her, falling to the small of her back. Her chocolate tresses slowly faded to sapphire shades of blue; the woman held an almost ethereal and otherworldly glow about her, and her strange, pewter-gray eyes only enhanced this aura.
"Thanks a lot!" Harry said, nearly out of breath, now just noticing that the woman had become short on words and air, her chest heaving as if she were sick. Her skin appeared clammy, and when she placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, it was icy cold.
"Are you all right?"
A subtle change in coloration took place in the woman's flesh; it was actually becoming a light shade of blue. Her mouth tried to urge out screams for help, hands groping for Harry's arms. But Harry drew himself back, at a loss for words.
"What's wrong with you!" looking left and right for assistance, but there were no helping hands for Harry to seek; all those around him were just as confused and probably just as frightened, and many of them left in a dizzy of commotion. Looking at the woman, now on the ground in apparent pain, gasps and choking noises spouting out of her mouth, he suddenly spotted the package that the two thieves had been running away with; it was on the ground close to where Harry's glasses had been.
"Is this yours?"
The woman seemed to be in a fit, and she snatched the small, crinkly bag out of Harry's grasp, and with pewter eyes ablaze, tore out a small flask. Harry couldn't get a close look at it, but it seemed to be made out of silver, with tiny stones encrusting the shiny surface. Whatever was filling the container seemed to be vital towards the woman, for as she gulped down the contents greedily, a color comparable to the full moon seemed to flood her face, a benign gaze crept into her eyes, and a gentile smile played on her demure lips. Standing up from the cobblestone path, Harry realized how thin and elegant the woman was; she was at least full foot and a half taller then he. Tucking the precious flask into her robes of deep cerulean blue, she stroked Harry's face, and he noticed that her fingers had maintained that biting cold impression.
"I want to thank you, young man, you've been a great help to me…those hoodlums were trying to rob me of…of this…" she motioned toward the inside pockets of her robes, a sanguine look cascading over her pale face, piercing into Harry's mental defenses; it was as if she were probing into his mind. His forehead became suddenly cold, and he reached up to touch it, revealing his omnipresent scar.
"I'm guessing you're going to Hogwarts…Harry Potter…I might see you again, then…"
And with no further words the mysterious woman left Harry so quickly that he was breathless in fact. She seemed to disappear into the flourishing crowd, which had by now resumed its status quo. From amidst the zoo of people reemerged Ron and Hermione, who were both very weary and fatigued, and wearing looks of bewilderment.
"Harry! Thank goodness you're alright!" Hermione blurted out, leaving her cart to check on her friend's condition, "You weren't hurt or anything?"
"I'm…I'm fine…" Harry spoke reluctantly, not sure what to make of the previous encounter with the brown and blue-haired woman, with her graceful features and wistful appearance.
"Where did you guys get off to?"
"We went to chase down those two robbers…you'll never believe who they were…" Ron added, his face looking rather proud for having caught the hoodlums, "It was Crabb and Goyle! From Slytherin!"
"Wot! Why were they stealing?" Harry said, shocked that the two boys, who normally accompanied his slimy nemesis Draco Malfoy, had stolen something from a total stranger…it had just been a flask…maybe all she needed was some water…
"Anyway…we gave them quite a scare! Those two gits were trippin' over themselves when we pretended to call over the officials! What a joke, those two ogres!" Ron guffawed, beating his knees in a laughing fit, replaying in his mind the startled faces of Crabb and Goyle as they ran away from Hermione's threats.
"Oh dear…we've better be off then…" the girl said, checking her pocket watch, giving a nod to both of the boys before they retrieved their carts, heading for the Alley's southern exit, one that led straight towards the King's Cross train station. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were both waiting for them, and Fred and George, looking as mischievous (they had probably purchased some prank charms on the side) as ever, were standing behind their parents.
"Are the ickle kiddie-poos ready to leave now?" George jeered the rushing 5th years, faces flushed from the short sprint they had made. Ron just gave a livid stare, cheeks heated and glowing red. Hermione giggled in spite of herself, giving her splotched cat, Crookshanks, a doting nuzzle underneath the cat's hairy chin.
And Harry, who still couldn't shake off this ubiquitous unease, just let his vision linger back to the corridor in which he had met that atypical and attractive woman, to her unusually succulent hair, and to her arcane, pewter-gray eyes.
